Unsettling Nights
by percychased
Summary: Brief glimpses of Ron and Hermione during the time they spent together hunting for Horcruxes. Written for the Colors of the Rainbow Drabble/Oneshot Challenge. Now complete.
1. Red

**Colors of the Rainbow Challenge (pairing Ron/Hermione), category Red, using the prompts: strawberries and raspberries, and the quote 'When women go wrong, men go right after them.' I couldn't really find a way to ****incorporate ****all the prompts into it, but this is what I got when the plot bunnies took over.**

The jumper was itchy. Very, very itchy. The thick, rough threads were digging into her skin, triggering an itch and making Hermione promptly scratch it, making a smattering of blotchy red rashes across her arms. Seeing as she had left all of her clothes at Grimmauld Place (as she believed they were going back that night - it was the _one _thing that wasn't in her bag) she had to borrow Ron's however-many-year-old maroon Weasley sweater, faded from the sunlight so it was a dull red color. Not the color of blood, perhaps, but the color of strawberries and raspberries, not a blinding bright red or a blood-like crimson, but a calm, subdued red that was a relaxing color. Even if it was unbearably itchy.

She heard dull, loud footsteps behind her, from where she was sitting outside the tent, admire the breathtaking stretch of land beyond the lake they were camping on, and she knew instantly it was Ron after her. Give someone seven years of solid (alright, sometimes shaky) friendship, and she could tell if it was Ron or Harry by simple footsteps; Ron was loud thumps, and Harry's was more delicate, like he was being very careful to avoid the crunchy leaves that spread all over the ground. When did she ever pay attention to their footsteps?

"Why're you here?" she asked, when he took a seat next to her, and admired the sunshine, beaming onto the clear teal lake, making a sparkling, clear reflection and warming their faces considerably, casting little sun spots all around the campsite.

"When women go wrong, men go right after them," he told her promptly, as if he'd been practicing that line specifically. Ron held out a t-shirt of his, silently offering for her to wear the t-shirt instead of the itchy jumper. She took it from his outstretched hands, and ducked inside the tent to change into it, feeling a great sense of relief when she took the uncomfortable jumper off.

"Thanks, Ron," she told him.

"Only for you, Hermione," he replied.


	2. Orange

**Using the prompts; pumpkin juice, oranges, the quote 'I've always got my eye on my deathbed', diary, year 1979. I don't know what I think about this chapter.**

"Orange, as in..."

"Pumpkin juice orange," replied Harry.

"Chudley Cannon orange," continued Ron.

"Ron's freckles orange."

"Sunset orange."

"Orange... the fruit orange."

"Thanks," gritted Hermione through her teeth. "All I was asking was what _kind _of orange, you two."

"We specified for you," Harry shrugged. "Er... no offence intended, Hermione - but why is this important, again."

"If we're going to get into the Ministry," snarled Hermione, losing her patience (not like she had much in the first place) quickly, "we need to know every detail! Things could go wrong, we could be discovered, we could be killed-"

"Stop panicking, 'Mione," Ron stepped in. "We'll be fine."

"I've always got my eye on my deathbed," Harry said wisely. "It's nothing new."

"But things could go wrong by a hundredfold," argued Hermione. "The stakes are much higher-"

"How about you take a break," suggested Ron, peered at the high stacks of paper and notes that teetered around Hermione. There were obvious bags under her eyes, and a smudge of black ink on her nose. She'd been working on their plan to get into the Ministry, to get the locket, for hours. "You're working yourself to death."

* * *

_Dear Diary, _

_(Why do I even write that first sentence) I don't know what to do. I'm tired, but I can't fall asleep. I can't stop thinking. I can't help it - I'm really worried, about that locket that Regulus Black found years ago, the exact Horcrux that killed him in 1979. I can't help but shiver when I write that word down - you know, the one that starts with h._

_ Ron told me I've been working myself to death (that may as well be true) and I needed a break. I do, but I won't admit it._

_ I just don't want anything to go wrong._


	3. Yellow

**For the Colors of the Rainbow Challenge: Category Yellow, using the prompts: lemon and banana, flying pigs, Monday (the day where everyone is lucky).**

**Word Count: 313**

"The sun is yellow."

"No," Hermione struggled, "It's not. It's more... golden, persay. Like hay in a field."

"Golden is yellow, Hermione," Ron countered.

"No," she replied, trying desperately to prove she's right, "golden is a mix of yellow, orange and light brown. Yellow is lemons and bananas."

"That's about as truthful as flying pigs," Ron stated, and Hermione snorted in contempt.

"With a simple flying charm, it is truthful," Hermione grinned, and Ron rolled his eyes much like a girl would have.

"I'll admit you're right," drawled Ron, from where he was sitting next to Hermione on the rocks overlooking the lake of their campsite, "if you can beat me in a race to the tent. If I win, you have to admit I'm much, much more cleverer than you." I could admit it, but that doesn't mean it's true, Hermione though.

"Fine," she grumbled, knowing she'd never hear the end of it unless she succumbed to racing. However, he was already speeding off ahead off her as soon as she said the word, so she quietly Apparated (yes, she had practiced over the summer holidays) a few inches from behind him and sprinted ahead just as they both reached the tent, her slightly ahead.

Ron gaped at her. "No way, you cheated," he accused, narrowing his eyes. Hermione couldn't have beat him in a foot race! She had probably used magic.

"No, it's Monday," she argued, leaving him visibly perplexed eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"What?"

"Monday's are lucky," she stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It was, to her: Mondays, just like the number 7, had always been lucky. Hermione might have been bookish, but she did have a little bit of superstitions (she was no Trelawney, though). Even in this case, when she had _actually_ cheated.

"I still think you cheated," he grumbled.


	4. Green

"I can't find my socks."

Hermione gave him a quizzical glace, and a shrug of her shoulders from where she was sitting on her own bed in the tent. "So? Just borrow a pair of Harry's."

Judging from the expression on Ron's face, it was as if she told him to go jump off of a cliff. "No. I want my Chudley Cannon ones." _Of course, _Hermione thought.

She rolled her eyes. "Do you have magical ability?" The question seemed to throw him off-guard, and it took him a whole to answer.

"Er... yes."

"Then accio it," Hermione said, like it was the most obvious thing ever.

His eyes widened, and the back of his neck turned a little crimson (the telltale sign he was embarrassed), but Ron nodded. "Accio socks!"

A pair of tiny green socks, fluorescent, came zooming from underneath Hermione's bed and straight to Ron's hand.

"These aren't mine, they're green" he said dumbly, and Hermione tried not to roll her eyes but failed.

"They're mine, dolt, and you have to say accio Ron's socks... or else the closest pair will come to you."

He nodded once again, and was about to accio his own socks, when he turned to her. "Why do you have green socks?"

Hermione knitted her eyebrows together. "Why does it matter?"

"Because," he huffed, "green is the enemy color. Slytherin is green. You, therefore, are showing your support for Slytherin with these offending socks."

"Offending socks? Ron, they're Muggle socks, and since when has Slytherin colors been bright, neon green? These are green-apple sort of green."

"It's still Slytherin-"

"They're socks, for Godric's sake, Ron, you're being as clever as a mop right now, and if it bothers you that much I'll transfigure them scarlet."

Ron had an approving look on his face. "Good."

* * *

_Word Count: 302_

_If You Dare Challenge, prompt 12, socks._

_Colors of the Rainbow Drabble challenge, category green. Prompts green apple and mop._


	5. Blue

Hermione always had a knack for blaming things on herself. Especially when something went wrong. No, she didn't blame herself out loud, but a bunch of guilty thoughts would flow through her brain and sometimes she would feel guilty even though she _knew _she did nothing wrong, and was in fact right.

Like when Ron left – when the Horcrux got to his head, and he blew up in Harry and Hermione's faces. She could have gone with him; but she couldn't leave Harry alone.

So she sat curled up on the edge of her cot in the tent, bringing her knees to her chest and thinking about the _what ifs _– what if I had went with him? What if Ron… gets caught? What if he had stayed – would they be farther along now?

Hermione supposed not, seeing as all she was doing was sulking in the fact that Ron had left her – _alone. _

It was a little more dreary without him. The bickering, the laughter, even the grumbling noise his stomach _constantly _made would be welcome at this very moment.

Of course not, though, and no matter how lame or corny or cliché it sounded, the sky seemed a little bit more of a darker blue, the stars didn't have their usual brightness, and the rain fell with much more intensity than normal.

Her mind would always wander back to _where _he was – what was he doing? Did he miss her or Harry? Hermione was perpetually asking herself internal questions, and these were the ones that she frustratingly could not find answers to.

At that moment, however, despite being angry and miserable but with a lingering sense of hope that he would come back, she decided to work on the task at hand – but found that she was too distracted, staring at the blue sky and comparing it to the color of his eyes and wishing that his eyes and all parts of him were there with her.

* * *

_Word Count: 334_

_Written for;_

_the Colors of the Rainbow Drabble/Oneshot Challenge, blue_

_the Colors Competition, blue negative._


	6. Indigo

_Aaaand, I'm back! This is the second last installment; the next chapter should be up tomorrow or the day after._

_The Colours of the Rainbow Challenge, indigo, word count: 317._

_Emily. x_

* * *

"It's not really... purple. More indigo, I would say."

Ron scrunched his eyebrows and gave her an exasperated, _are-you-kidding-me _sort of look. "What's indigo? It's purple, Hermione."

Hermione barely restrained rolling her eyes as she explained. "_Indigo _is a mix between blue and purple. It's quite a lovely color, really. Much better than lavender." Hermione's hint was very, very obvious, and Ron caught on.

"Ha ha. Lavender. _That's completely hilarious._" His tone was cynical and sarcastic.

"Well, I thought so."

"Your sense of humor needs checking, I reckon."

"So, what're we having for dinner?" Ron's honest, slightly annoying question was being asked every five minutes, and the grumbling coming from his stomach was very much getting on Hermione's nerves, and she felt like snapping. Or maybe that was just the _Horcrux _around her neck.

"Whatever I can find," replied Hermione tonelessly.

"One thing I _do _miss is the food," admitted Harry. "Especially your mothers' food."

"I miss everything," shrugged Ron, "it's different out here, hunting..."

"It's different everywhere, now, Ron," added Hermione quietly.

"I miss Hogwarts," stated Harry randomly, and the other two gave him looks.

"Not how it is now," Harry elaborated quickly, "but imagine, like our first and second and third years, minus Quirrell and the heir of Slytherin and the drama that followed Sirius."

"I had always wondered what a normal Hogwarts childhood would feel like," put in Hermione. "Without the constantly getting killed part, of couse."

Ron nodded in agreement. "If only it was normal."

"I've always thought some parts of the sunset were more indigo than others," whispered Hermione, sitting side-by-side with Ron on the edge of the river a few yards away from the tent, admiring the setting sun, declining under the horizon.

"It's still more purple to me," Ron battled.

"To each their own," said Hermione simply, before lying back on the back of the river, her hair fanning underneath her head.


	7. Purple

_To decifer runes, one must have a previous understanding of basic arithmancy. From there, the student must be able to easily and without difficultly complete various theories relating to... _

Hermione sighed deeply and tossed the book next to her, leaning against the base of a tree within their protected, concealed area deep into the forest. Harry and Ron were still sleeping; it was early morning, and the sun was just beginning to twinkle over the horizon. Hermione had always been an early bird, and a creature of habit; getting up this early was a natural instinct for her.

For a little bit she just leaned against the trunk of the tree, eyes closed in bliss and letting the refreshing, slightly cool air brush over her skin. After a while, the telltale crunch of leaves from outside the tent told her that someone was up.

"Harry?" she asked. Harry was usually up right after her.

"Why do you always assume I'm Harry?" grumbled an irritated, sleep-ridden voice. It was clear Ron was still waking up. She opened her eyes to see him standing outside the tent in a maching pair of hideous orange Chudley Cannon pajamas.

"Harry usually wakes up before you," shrugged Hermione, gathering her book and her blanket into a bundle, prepared to find breakfast.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

A cooing interrupted the silence that had befallen them; a loud, gentle cooing, coming from the treetops. It was a beautiful noise - like a wonderfully played piano, perhaps, or classical music. Ron stayed silent, his eyes flickering upwards between the branches of the trees before finding where the noise was coming from.

A large bird, with a long, delicate beak and soft feathers with a beautiful purple undertone soared towards the sun, wings outstreched. Hermione had never seen a _purple _bird, of all things.

"Beautiful," she murmured, eyes towards the sky.

As soon as the words slipped out of her mouth, Ron's eyes flickered to her.

* * *

_And that, folks, concludes Unsettling Nights. I hope you enjoyed reading this as I had writing it! Love, Emily._


End file.
